


The Wrong World

by orphan_account



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23778631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Teddy gains sentience... but also finds out that he's a man out of time.
Relationships: Teddy Flood/Reader
Kudos: 5





	The Wrong World

Teddy was alive… in a way, in a very odd and almost unreal way, but he could remember everything that had happened, how he had to stop fighting by Delores’ side because he could no longer handle it, he could no longer cope. His last memory was bringing his loaded revolver to his temple and squeezing the trigger tightly as he closed his eyes and let out a final breath; but now he was in a strange room, one he did not recognise, one filled with objects he could not describe and could not even guess were. The walls were a deep and dark purple, pictures of various people on the walls, some wearing masks, some using strange and foregin objects, the ceiling yellow and flaking in a few places, behind him was a brown fabric sofa with a wooden frame and when he sat upright, he felt a heavy duvet fall into his lap, plush pillows of grey and white at his back, a blue sheet on the mattress beneath him. He raised his hand to his temple and shuddered. 

No scarring. No bruising. 

Just his own skin. His own flesh. 

“Delores?” He called with a hoarse and confused voice, brows knitting together as his heartbeat thundered, the sound of footsteps echoed for a moment… and you stepped into the room. 

“You’re awake,” you said softly, offering him a glass of water before taking a seat on the sofa, keeping a cautious distance. “I took you to the hospital, but they turned you away - said there was nothing wrong with you except a concussion.” 

Teddy couldn’t speak, opening his mouth and closing it over and over again as he tried to voice the thousand and one questions coursing through his mind, as he tried to decide which question was the most important, but he couldn’t, and only sat there, gawking and confused as you continued to speak. 

“Can you tell me your name?” You asked softly, looking at him with concern and worry, a vexing look that made him clear his throat and stiffen up slightly. 

“Teddy,” he croaked. “Teddy Flood… where am I?” 

You told him the address and where you were, but he didn’t seem to recognise it, he only seemed to grow more confused, which made you frown as you furrowed your brows. “Can I ask you where you’re from?” 

“S-Sweetwater,” he replied, “a town called… Sweetwater.” 

You nodded, pursing your lips as you ran a hand through your hair. “Is there anyone I can call for you, Teddy? Someone who can come pick you up and take you home?” 

He thought about Delores, but knew that she was probably unreachable, which made him shake his head as he cleared his throat and tried to rid it of the thickness that was growing against the walls of it, clogging it up like leaves in a drain pipe. “No… there’s no one.” 

Slowly, you nodded, looking around before offering up a small smile. “I can book you a hotel room, so you don’t have to stay here, if you want?” 

Teddy considered it for a moment, but knew that it was probably safer to stay, as he was unsure of what waited for him beyond what he guessed was your bedroom. “Westworld,” he said suddenly. “You ever heard of it?” 

“Sure,” you nodded, shrugging. “My friend’s been there loads of times, reckons it’s the dog’s bollocks… why? Do you work there?” 

“I’m from there,” he told you, holding up his hands and noticing how they steadily trembled. “I… I was a… a…” he swallowed thickly, shaking his head and trying to steady his own nerves. “I was a part of it… I wasn’t… I’m not… this is the wrong world.” 

“You’re a robot, a Host, or whatever it is they call you… aren’t you?” You asked gently, not really wanting to push his boundaries and make him uncomfortable; then again, you didn’t think it mattered if he was a robot or if he was human, he was real enough to you, and you knew that no matter what he was, he was in need of help. 

“Yeah,” Teddy breathed out, almost as if he could hardly believe it himself. “I won’t hurt you, though, I just-”

“I’m not really worried about that,” you assured him with a smile. “You’re a person in need of help, Teddy, and I’d be happy to try, if that’s alright with you?”

Teddy nodded, finding it in himself to smile a little as he felt himself slowly starting to calm down, to relax. “Thank you, for your kindness, uh…” 

“(Y/N),” you told him, approaching and holding out your hand so that he could shake it. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), at your service.” 

He shook your hand, nodding as he cleared his throat, but when he looked down, he frowned; he was still wearing his clothes from home, and when he looked at you, dressed oddly in jeans a t-shirt that had a picture on it, a black jacket on your shoulders that was hooded and had the name Slipknot written on the left, he thought that he probably wouldn’t fit in with this… new world he had come into. 

“I think I should probably find some other clothes.” 

You nodded, looking him up and down. “I think I might have some stuff that’ll fit you, just for now, but don’t worry about that right now - you hungry?” 

He shook his head, declining the offer of food as he looked around. “Have you, uh, have you got a bathroom?”

“Yeah, I do, it’s down the hall to your left,” you told him kindly. “But, before you go in, I’ll put those clothes in there for you to try on, alright?” 

“Thank you.” 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Looking into his own eyes, Teddy could not recognise the man in the mirror before him, he was shaken to his core by his surroundings, how… different, and alien, everything looked, and how out of touch and out of time he felt; it was as if he had been thrown into a completely new and different dimension, and had no idea of how or why he got there. Sure, he knew that it would take some getting used to, but he had to admit that he was already feeling homesick; even if he was unsure of if there was a home for him to go to or not. He felt sick in his stomach, a growing feeling, as he looked around the bathroom and recognised next to nothing, he had wondered about what the future would look like from time to time, but… never this. Shaking his head, Teddy turned the tap on, and splashed some cold water of his face, running his hand through his hair as he tried to steel his nerves and stop thinking; he quickly changed into the clothes you had provided for him, a pair of blue jeans, a red and black shirt, and a soft grey fabric jacket that looked very much like the one you had worn. 

When he looked back in the mirror, Teddy felt even more disconnected from the man who stared back, the man who mimicked his movements when he brushed his hair with a black plastic comb and wiped his mouth with the mint green towel after brushing his teeth, getting rid of the bad taste that had settled since he woke up. It all felt rather like a dream, one that he could not wake up from and that was torturing him; he was starting to doubt the nature of his reality, if this was all real, or if it was just some… simulation that had been set up. 

But something told him it wasn’t a simulation, and it was all real and that he had left Westworld and somehow managed to wind up in the ‘real’ world. A different world. The wrong world. 

Maybe he was just a man out of time, and needed to catch up to the world and what was happening, maybe he was just out of touch and needed to be guided and taken back to the right path. He looked at his temple again, examining it in the mirror, looking for any sign, any trace, of where he had shot himself - a fleck of gunpowder, a spot of rusted and dried blood, a slight bump on the skin that had been raised upon the impact, even the smallest of dents. 

And that was when he saw it. It was almost impossible to see, but very faintly, very vaguely, the revolver’s barrel had imprinted his skin, a round little mark, it was faded but he could tell that it was definitely there and was absolutely real, and he shivered slightly when he thought about the world outside the house; how much different it would be, how it would cement the fact that he did not belong here, he was too out of touch, he was too out of time. He wasn’t even human. Sure, he looked and felt and talked and acted human, but at the end of the day, he knew that he was never born - he was made. He was manufactured. He could never be human. He could never fit in with this world. Westworld was his only home, he knew that, as fake and as much of a fantasy as it all was, to him it was very much real and in existence, it was where he had spent the majority of his days; in Westworld, he fit in like a missing jigsaw piece, even if he was made to fit the bill, even if he was designed to be the missing piece. But here? In your world? He could never be sure; he knew Maeve and Delores would fit in perfectly, they were smart, and they were far better at adapting to their surroundings. They were strong and powerful. But Teddy? He had no clue where to start, he had no clue what his first step was supposed to be or why. He was… he was lost. 

The man out of time was lost. 

He was lost without a hope, and needed to find a map, he needed to find something or someone to help him to adapt and to fit into this world as if he had been born in it instead of manufactured and designed in some lab. 

After a while, he walked down the stairs, clearing his throat and offering up an unsteady smile when he walked into the kitchen and saw you. 

“You look good,” you told him, nodding appreciatively. “You look like a regular guy, Mister Flood.” 

“Thanks,” Teddy replied, looking around the kitchen with great confused curiosity as he sighed. It was frustrating for him to know that he had a lot of work to do in order to fit into this new world, this wrong world. He definitely was going to need all the help he could get. 

“Listen, uhm, I don’t wanna push a boundary here, but I just wanna say that, y’know, given your predicament, I’d be happy to let you have my bed for however long you want,” you stated gently. 

“Thank you,” he repeated, seemingly not able to say it enough. “But I can’t take your bed… if it’s alright with you, I’d prefer the sofa.” 

You nodded as you shrugged, stuttering a little. “Sure, whatever you’re most comfortable with, Teddy.” 

“Thank you,” he was worried that he was starting to sound a bit like a damaged gramophone. “Really, (y/n), thank you, for the hospitality and the help… but, I don’t belong here, I’m not a part of your world, even if I wanted to be.” 

“You’re a man out of time,” you said quietly. “I get it - but, listen, Teddy, if you want… maybe I can help you to, y’know, to adjust and to fit in - even if only temporarily.” 

“I’d like that,” he agreed. “Thank you, again.” 

≿━━━━༺❀༻━━━━≾

Over the course of a small while, you and Teddy spent most of the time in the house, with you helping him to understand and adjust to life in your world, in the modern age, and he made great progress; you had an inkling of a feeling that he was smart, but he still surprised you by picking up things quite quickly. You were glad, though, and with each day that went by, you found yourself growing quite fond of the man out of time, you found yourself growing quite attached to Teddy; he made you smile, and made you look forward to getting home each day, he brought out a certain confidence in you that you had not had before you met him. You enjoyed the time you spent with him, listening to his stories of Westworld and what life was like there, of Delores and the vile Man In Black, all his memories; for Teddy, talking to you was therapeutic, it allowed him to get certain things from his system and alleviate his worries and woes for a moment or two, it gave him a chance to make sense of the things that otherwise he couldn't quite wrap his head around - and he had to admit that talking to you was slowly becoming the best part of the day. He was growing to miss your presence when you weren't around, and you were growing to miss his when you weren't at home; when you had nightmares, he happily let you crash on the sofa with him, and held you tightly with your back against his chest and his body coiled around yours, your head tucked beneath with his chin on top. He learned to use a phone, and quite often texted you the things he had learned throughout the day which always made you smile down at the screen; in return, you gave him the resources to learn more about the world around him, the world he was brought into and you were born into. 

With each day, this wrong world was starting to grow on Teddy, it was starting to cling to him the way raindrops clung to tall tree leaves; he was fascinated by it, and he slowly started to realise why other Hosts wanted to be a part of it so badly, as although it had its downfalls and its dark and painful places, it was still beautiful - from the smallest of ants, to the tallest of skyscrapers, it was a place of marvel. Each day, Teddy felt more and more at home in this wrong world, and he started to wonder why he had ever been so worried about joining it in the first place. 

He wasn't the man he was before, by no means, he could never go back to being that man, but at the same time, he made his peace with it… even if he did wonder sometimes if maybe, just maybe, it was still all a dream. 

When you took him shopping, he was amazed by the different choices and options that were made widely available; but that didn't stop him from choosing a plain leather jacket, dark brown like coffee in colour, with a light brown shirt, and a pair of black jeans. You somehow even managed to convince him to get it styled differently, and god, you had to admit that he was handsome. He was incredibly handsome, actually, and the more you looked at him, the harder you found it to breathe, the more months hatched in your stomach and started to fly around, tickling walls of intestine. 

"What?" He asked, looking worried for a moment. 

You shook your head quickly, offering up an uneasy smile. "Nothing, you just… has anyone told you how handsome you are, Teddy?" 

He shrugged a little, clearing his throat and looking down at his beaten up boots. "Delores. A few… a few guests called me pretty boy, too, if that counts?" 

"Well, they weren't wrong," you told him, patting his shoulder and leading him down the street. "You, my good Sir, are  _ very  _ handsome." 

"Thank you," he said, a little nervous and awkward as his hand found its way to your lower back, a mere instinct. "You're quite, uh, quite good looking, too, though." 

"Let's not talk about me," you coughed, looking around and pretending not to notice the pressure at your lower back, how it made you want to keen and arch into it. "Anyways, why don't we hit up the pub? Knock back a couple pints before we do anything else?" 

He agreed, following you into what he recognised as your world's version of a saloon, and after grabbing a couple of glasses of whisky, sat down at a table with you. 

"Hey, good lookin'!" Someone with a slurred voice shouted for your attention. "Hey! Why don't you ditch the pretty boy and get with something _ real _ , huh, baby?" 

You rolled your eyes at the comments, knowing that they were nothing but the heckling of a drunken old idiot, and knocked back your whisky. 

"You shouldn't let them talk to you like that," Teddy said, looking over at the drunk before meeting your gaze as he frowned. "The disrespect alone-" 

"I'm not worried about it," you shrugged, relaxing into your seat. "A miserable old drunk ain't anything to me." 

Teddy's frown grew slightly as he downed his glass and, ignoring your protests, walked over to the drunk, grabbing them by the collar and shaking his head. "You should learn some respect, partner." 

The drunk laughed, breath stinking of lager and beer as they tilted their head back and closed their eyes, nearly spitting. "Oh, look! Pretty boy thinks he's tough, does he? What you gonna do? Get your Hollywood pals on my ass?" 

Teddy was about to answer, his fist clenched at his side as he growled, when you rushed over, grabbing his arm and shaking your head as you tugged him away from the drunk. "Teddy, look at me. You need to understand, this world isn't like yours, it's… you get in trouble for bar fights." 

He furrowed his brows, he had only been following his good Samaritan reflex as well as his own emotions; he yearned to protect you, to keep you safe and to make sure that you were happy. But when you pulled him out the back of the pub, he couldn't deny that a part of him also wanted to push you up against the wall and kiss you, too. "But, they disrespected you?" 

"Yeah, but it happens," you told him, letting your hands drop to his as your eyes drifted down to his lips. "It… it happens…" 

With his false heart beating and pounding in his chest, Teddy leaned forward, kissing you sweetly and softly, his hands escaping yours so that he could cup your cheeks as he kept the kiss chaste and soft. "It shouldn't happen…" 

"Is this your programming at work, or is it… you?" You whispered, looking up into his eyes with a slight glint of glittering worry. 

"It's me," Teddy told you, sure of it. "Part of it might be the programming, but… it's me, and I… I wanna do that again - kiss you, I mean." 

You smiled, hooking your thumbs through his belt loops as you pulled him closer, kissing him again; only this time, Teddy allowed his own consciousness to take over, and he slowly and carefully backed you into the wall, pushing you against it as he continued to kiss you, his hands splayed out on the rough and coarse bricks either side of your head.

When you pulled away, you were breathless, grinning. "That definitely  _ wasn't _ programming…" 

"If it's okay with you," Teddy started, "and only if it's okay with you - I'd like to stay in your world, for… just a little while longer." 

"Keep kissin' me like that," you whispered, moving slightly so that your hips were against his. "And I'll let you stay with me for as long as you want, cowboy." 


End file.
